


Not Okay

by trashm0uth



Series: Not Okay [1]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Abusive Maggie Tozier & Wentworth Tozier, Abusive Parents, Creepy Patrick Hockstetter, Depressed Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Panic, Gay Richie Tozier, M/M, Multiple Suicide Attempts, Patrick Hockstetter is His Own Warning, Rape Recovery, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:14:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 17
Words: 12,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23132257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashm0uth/pseuds/trashm0uth
Summary: Richie Tozier isn’t as happy as he seems. Behind the jokes and coy smiles, there’s years of abuse and depression hiding beneath the surface. After a brutal assault, Richie doesn’t know how much longer he can hide his suffering anymore. The only thing keeping him from ending it all might be taken away.Eddie Kaspbrak.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Not Okay [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715449
Comments: 116
Kudos: 137





	1. What Makes Me Do the Things I Do

**Author's Note:**

> (I’m sorry Richie.) I’ll be updating weekly. Trigger warning for this whole book/work.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie is assaulted. The losers find him afterwards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from “Purple” by Mandopony.

Richie woke up painfully, every muscle slowly squeezing into place as he sat up. He knew he was supposed to meet the rest of the losers at the clubhouse soon, but he really didn’t think he could get out of bed.  
He had been beaten pretty bad the last night, grades were the main reason. He had a busted lip and black eye, along with a few other very noticeable bruises and cuts.  
Richie didn’t know how he was supposed to keep his overly-happy-jokester facade up today. He didn’t have the energy. He would probably just annoy everyone with his jokes anyway.  
He probably needed to rebandage the cuts that he made on his wrist and thighs yesterday, too. At least before he headed over to the clubhouse.  
Richie hastily threw on some pants and started rummaging through his drawers for a short that wasn’t short sleeved.  
Turning up empty handed, he sighed and threw on a white tee. Then he took off his bandages, preparing to rebandage them.  
He was about to start wrapping the wound when his mother knocked on the door.  
“Get out of the bathroom. Right now. I need it,” she snarled. Richie knew better than to reason with her, but he really needed to wrap the large array of scars and scabs that took up the entirety of his forearm before he left.  
Nonetheless, he obliged, scurrying out of the bathroom. He was yanked backwards by his mother immediately after exiting the restroom.  
“Did you really cut your arm again?” She growled in a disgusted manner. Richie just stood in silence.  
“Sorry,” he squeaked. Silence for a few seconds, then a tight grip on his hair, then a shove, forcing his temple into the corner of his study desk. Richie cried out in pain as he slumped over underneath the desk.  
“I told you not to touch my fucking razors,” Maggie stormed off into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. 

Richie just decided that he was going to walk, as he really didn’t want to go get his bike off of the bike rack. He stumbled out of the front door, thick blood streaming down his face from his right temple. Richie wandered along in the woods until he found the clubhouse.

“Sup,” Richie leaned on the ladder for support, trying to make it look like it was just a natural position. The rest of the losers perked up when Richie spoke, like they had been waiting for him. But he knew that deep down, they didn’t want him there.  
“Hey, Rich- oh, what’s up with your face?” Stan inquired, referring to Richie’s busted lip and black eye. Richie was totally out of it, due to the immense amount of injuries he had sustained.  
“Oh, probably nothing,” Richie clumsily teetered away from the ladder, shedding light onto his temple, which was dripping blood onto his white tee shirt. Stan’s brows furrowed. Richie sat down, trying to act as normal as he could.  
“Good god, Richie, what, did you fall down a flight of stairs?” Mike asked nervously. Richie laughed it off and suggested they do something, after getting beeped fairly quickly. That made him feel better at least.  
The whole atmosphere felt off, though. Richie was totally out of it, and nobody could ignore the dripping, bloody gash on his right temple. Eddie would freak when he showed up.  
The ladder began creaking as Eddie shuffled down.  
“Hey- OH JESUS RICHIE!” Eddie shouted, rushing over to the raven-haired boy, and interrupting their game of uno. Eddie began to examine the wound. Richie blinked and looked up at Eddie before swatting his hands away.  
“I’m fine, Eddie,” Richie mumbled. Suddenly, his arm was grabbed and gently pulled forward by Eddie. Eddie had a concerned look on his face, but also hurt. He looked like he had been personally targeted and attacked.  
“Did… did you do this?” Eddie softly whispered. The rest of the losers were a little perplexed, but knew better than to intervene.  
Richie didn’t immediately know what he was referring to, but put it together pretty quickly. He yanked his scarred arm back and anxiously tried to think up an excuse.  
“Uhm… would you believe me if I said it was a cat scratch?” Richie asked. The whole losers club was dead silent. The only people with a clear view of the situation besides Eddie were Beverly and Stan. Beverly quietly observed, hoping she could step in at the correct time. Stan, however, was more rash and emotional with his decisions.  
“Cut the shit, Richie,” Stan stood up, gaining the attention of the rest of the club, mostly Beverly. “It doesn’t look anything like a cat scratch, and you don’t even own a fucking cat.”  
“Stan, calm down—”Beverly approached Stan. Stan turned towards Beverly, his eyes full of burning emotion. Before Stan could speak, Richie sniffled and stood up.  
“I should go,” Richie firmly stated. Stan was about to object, but Richie bolted up the ladder. The rest of the losers followed.  
“Where are you— Richie look out!” Ben shouted as Patrick Hockstetter and Henry Bowers— along with Vic and Belch— jumped Richie. Patrick and Henry held Richie in a chokehold while an uncomfortable, and unwilling, Vic and Belch wielded switchblades and surrounded the other three.  
“Well, well, well,” Henry stepped forward, letting Patrick choke Richie tighter, causing a strangled gargle to escape from Richie’s mouth. “Look who it is. The losers,” he cackled.  
“If you all want to escape without any harm, I suggest you leave little Richie over to us,” Patrick growled.  
Vic and Belch walked towards the rest of the losers. Vic gave them a look that said go, we’ll take care of it. So they ran off into the woods, planning to get Richie if he wasn’t back in ten minutes.

Patrick, Henry, Vic, and Belch lead, or rather, dragged Richie into the woods. Patrick threw Richie to the ground, stepping on his chest. Henry took out a zip tie and tied his hands together. Vic and Belch stood back as Patrick and Henry began to sit Richie up. Vic cleared his throat.  
“I’m gonna make sure those losers actually left,” he lied. Patrick nodded as Vic and Belch bolted towards the other side of the woods.  
Eventually, they found the losers.  
“You guys gotta leave,” Vic firmly stated. The losers looked up. “I’m serious. Just leave and call the police. Trust me on this.” Beverly looked nervously at the rest of her friends. Then she nodded, running with them off into the street.  
When Vic and Belch returned, Richie had a cloth gag in his mouth, and was now screaming muffled “no”s. Blood was dripping down his face, pooling at his chin and dripping on the ground. Patrick then looked at Henry for a sort of signal, and Henry nodded. Patrick then began to unbuckle his belt.  
Vic’s heart dropped.  
Without thinking, Vic lunged towards Patrick, but missed, causing him to trip. He hit his head on the ground and fell unconscious. Belch followed suit in being knocked out, this time by a heavy rock to the head thrown by Henry. Patrick took off his pants and yanked Richie’s head towards him, causing the young boy before him to squeak in shock.  
Patrick removed the gag from Richie’s mouth. Before he had any time to speak, Richie’s mouth was pried open and filled with Patrick’s genitalia.  
Patrick grabbed Richie’s hair and pulled his face closer, pushing his penis further down his throat. Richie was trying his best not to immediately vomit from the pressure against his throat and uvula. Patrick continued to thrust and push and pull until he had reached climax.  
He stayed put, leaving thick white cream to flood Richie’s mouth. Richie’s eyes widened in shock and disgust as his mouth filled with fluid. Patrick finally pulled out and yelled at Richie to swallow, so he did. Richie tearfully choked back the semen and swallowed. He then immediately had his mouth stuffed full of dick again.  
But this time, when Patrick was climaxing, he pulled out and squirted semen all over Richie’s face. And in the process, he got his fingers in Richie’s mouth and managed to scratch up his cheek pretty badly. Blood spilled out onto his chin and dripped down his neck.  
The two boys then proceeded to put the gag back in Richie’s mouth as they began unzipping his pants.  
The pain was white hot, skin on skin. Tears flooded down Richie’s face as he was assaulted and ravaged like an animal. 

Patrick and Henry eventually dragged Vic and Belch away, fixing Richie’s pants to avoid suspicion. They left Richie sitting on broken twigs. Richie silently cried as he tried to stand up. 

The losers were still walking home when they heard leaves crunching on the trail behind them. Eddie turned around to see who it was, and was met with the blur of a disheveled and disoriented Richie as he zoomed along the trail.  
“Richie!” Eddie tried to catch up to the other boy, whose face was still covered in semen, but it was not distinct enough for Eddie to make out what it was, especially not while he was running.  
“Jesus Christ,” Beverly exclaimed. Richie had tuned them out as he stumbled forward blindly. His only thought was getting as far away as he could from the forest. He ignored the cries of his friends as he booked it across the woods. 

Richie finally exited the woods, making it to his house. He bolted in the door, knowing his mother was drunkenly passed out on the couch. He rushed to the sink and turned the faucet on. He shoved his face under and washed the blood and bodily fluids off.  
When he was done, he brushed his teeth vigorously. He tried as hard as he could to get the salty taste of semen and blood out of his mouth. He tried as best as he could, but to little effect.  
After sobbing on the bathroom tile for a while, he eventually decided to just leave the toxic atmosphere of his home. He left after foolishly stealing a blunt and a beer from his dad’s mini fridge and counter. Maybe getting stoned would erase some of the pain.

The losers had no idea where or why Richie ran, but they all sensed something off about his frazzled and frantic demeanor. Beverly and Eddie suggested that they all look for him, and everyone agreed. They all headed towards the bridge near Richie’s house. They went there on a whim, as Beverly had a strong feeling that he would be there. And since they needed to get there quickly, everyone trusted her.

The losers arrived at the bridge, and as they were walking towards the railing, they spotted a shadowy figure crouched underneath the wooden rails. Eddie ran towards it, just to find out it was Richie.  
Richie was smoking something, most likely a blunt of some sort. He was holding a can of bud light in his right hand as he took a puff, a far off look in his eyes. He didn’t even seem to notice that Eddie was standing above him.  
“Richie!” Eddie snapped, kneeling down in front of Richie. Richie was looking at him like he never had before; he seemed to be staring right through Eddie. His eyes were so empty.  
Eddie finally just shook Richie out of his daze, grabbing his shoulders and shaking them wildly. Richie finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in, blinking a few times before furrowing his brows in confusion.  
“What are you guys doing here?” He asked blankly. Eddie opened his mouth to say something, but Bill spoke first.  
“We c-c-c-came to find y-you!” Bill exclaimed. Richie just kind of blinked in response before taking another hit of the blunt. Nobody really knew exactly why Richie was acting so weird. Normally he would be chattering away about how “Patrick and Henry were too scared to keep at him.” But today he was… quiet.  
Richie was never quiet.  
Everyone just stared in awe at the boy before them. Finally, Ben spoke. Albeit, softly.  
“Well, uh, what happened?”  
Richie froze.


	2. If I Lay Here; If I Just Lay Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie lays in the rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from “Chasing Cars: Snow Patrol.” (P.S. sorry about the short length. I had no more ideas as to what else to write.) (Extra note: dashes indicate a flashback or a traumatic event. I.e.: — he laughed about it.—)

—The pain was unbearable. His eyes stung with tears as he was viciously assaulted. Blood poured from his mouth and nose as he was groped and grabbed at. It felt like hands were all over him. He tried to move but he was pinned down. He tried to scream but no sound would come out. He was trapped under the weight of his attacker as he shrieked in silence. —

Richie’s nose had started to bleed again. Stan was about to say something but Richie spoke first.  
“I… gotta go,” Richie bolted, not even bothering to take anything with him. The losers scrambled after him, but they weren’t nearly fast enough to catch up. Bill stopped ahead of the group, everyone following suit.  
“What the hell was that about?” He half-screamed. Everyone just shook their heads or shrugged.  
“Something bad must’ve happened. Like, really bad,” Eddie spoke. Everyone nodded in agreement.  
“Maybe we shouldn’t have listened to Belch and Vic,” Stan yelled, gaining everyone’s attention. “I know they’ve been stopping most of Henry and Patrick’s stunts lately. And I know they’ve been trying to shy away from Bowers and Hockstetter, but what if they weren’t able to this time?” 

ONE MONTH LATER  
Richie had been extraordinarily silent the past month. He spoke, but when he did, it was just some half-assed attempt at a joke. It was like he didn’t care enough to actually try to be funny. Sometimes he would stop midway through his joke and just sit in silence. Every one of the losers tried to address this behaviour, but they couldn’t initiate a conversation since he refused to address it. He would simply deny any issues whenever asked about his apprehensive behavior.  
He missed out a lot on clubhouse meetings, but none of the losers really knew why.  
The losers had noticed that he had gotten skinnier, too. His cheekbones were more prominent and stuck out against his skin. His collarbone was almost sharp, and his ribs were visible through a thin shirt. His knees were bony and wobbly. He seemed to be weaker now.  
One day, he had been walking home from school, when somebody grabbed his arm.  
“Hey you little fuckin’ fairy,” Patrick snarled. Richie’s entire body seized up. The Bowers gang had not been in school since the attack, so this was his first encounter with him since. “Miss me?”  
Richie turned his head and vomited on the gravel.  
Patrick gave him a disgusted look as he grabbed Richie’s shirt collar.  
“Come with me,” he commanded. 

—Richie was forced on his knees again. He could already taste the blood in his mouth, even before Patrick had done anything. Richie tried to speak. To plead for him to stop, but he had already begun. He shoved his penis down the 13-year-old’s throat, causing him to emit a stifled cry. Richie tried not to vomit as he was forcefully grabbed and pulled and pushed.  
Eventually, after about an hour, Patrick decided he had enough of this, and beat the shit out of Richie. He gave him a black eye and a bloody nose, along with a badly busted lip. He then left the boy on the ground. Thankfully without unwanted bodily fluids splattered on him like cake batter. —

Richie vomited again. He threw up so much that all that came out was blood. He couldn’t stand up very well, so he just kind of crawled towards the road, trying to get away from the mess he’d created.

About an hour later, Richie woke up to intense rain flooding down on the streets and on him. He didn’t have enough energy to get somewhere warm, plus, he didn’t really care if he just died out in the cold rain anyways. Then, of course, someone had to go and ruin his lazy suicide.  
It was someone on a bike. Richie didn’t care enough to look and see who it was.  
The sound was muffled due to the intense ringing in his ears. The whole world sounded like a symphony played on a broken violin.  
Whoever was standing above him was screaming about something. It sounded like there were multiple people yelling about who-knows-what. But Richie couldn’t tell for sure.  
Someone grabbed his hand. Richie didn’t have enough willpower to resist, so he just let them do whatever they were going to do.  
Richie was hoisted up onto a bicycle. His vision was black and spotted, and all he saw before he blacked out was a flash of fiery red hair, and a blue inhaler being taken out of its packaging.

“Is he awake yet?” A voice spoke. It sounded familiar.  
“I don’t think so, but if he doesn’t wake up soon, we are calling 911,” another voice chimed in. That one sounded familiar, and more frantic then the last one.  
“W-w-w-well, we can just h-hope he wakes up soon, I guess,” another said. This one was definitely someone Richie knew.  
Then Richie realized that it must be Bill.  
Richie sat bolt upright, but his blood pressure kicked in and he was immediately hit with a wave of dizziness. Richie collapsed back against the bed. Someone rushed to his side and he opened his eyes to see Beverly.  
“Oh my god! You’re awake! Guys,” she called everyone over. The whole losers club was there, standing above Richie. His heart started to pound as he realized what they were going to ask.  
“How are you feeling?” Stan asked. Richie didn’t respond immediately, as he had no strength to. But eventually, he managed to choke out a response.  
“Head… hurts…” he rasped. Eddie pulled something out of his bag. It looked like a painkiller. He told Richie to open his mouth and take it, but this sparked a memory in him.

—There was definitely blood in his mouth. Richie tried to resist as his jaw was pried open with Patrick’s slender fingers, but he couldn’t. His cheek was scratched by one of his nails, and blood dripped everywhere. Not long after, he was forced to orally pleasure Patrick. He thought he was going to vomit, but he managed to hold off until after Patrick left.—

Eddie didn’t really understand the panicked look that spread across Richie’s face as soon as he told him to take the pill. Richie, nonetheless, obliged and swallowed the pill down before he could vomit. 

Richie eventually convinced his friends to let him go home (but not before taking a long break to puke in the toilet.) He said that he was fine, that he just needed sleep. That his parents would want him back there anyway. Eddie insisted that there was something off with Richie, Bev said that they would check up on him later. But nobody knew what he was planning the moment he got home.  
Not in their wildest dreams.


	3. Will You End My Pain?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie decides he’s done.  
> The losers pay him a visit—at the exact wrong time (for him.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from “Broken” by Lund. TW for suicide and abuse.

Richie tried to enter his house undetected, but was soon noticed by his father.  
“Well, look who finally showed up,” Wentworth snarled. He yanked Richie towards him. The boy looked fearfully up at his father. Wentworth swiftly kicked Richie’s shin, causing him to stumble backwards onto the ground. He stepped on his chest, causing a strangled wheeze to emit from Richie’s lungs. Wentworth removed his belt, deciding that he needed to teach his son not to miss curfew.  
He lashed the boy across his face until it bled. He screamed in his face. He choked him out, leaving blue and purple handprints across Richie’s neck. When he felt he had done an adequate job of discipline, Wentworth left Richie wheezing and bleeding on the tile floor, telling him to clean up his mess. 

Finally, Richie had finished cleaning up his mess of blood on the tile. He then stumbled up the stairs and cleaned the mess of blood on himself. He applied coverup on the various lashes that coated his face. He stumbled into his room. He decided he should write some things down. Some things that he knew he would need later.  
Suicide letters.

Stan-  
Stan the Man. Staniel. I have so much to say to you. But, I guess that I’ll start with this. You are extraordinary. The way you can silently read everyone’s emotions, without even a word, it’s incredible. You always know just what to say, no matter the situation. You can cheer anyone up on a bad day, even if just for a fleeting moment. You are truly an amazing person. You were my best friend. I’m sorry I never got to tell you that in person. But I know you won’t dwell on me for very long. You all are better off without me. Especially you, Stan. You are going to go on to do great things without me. I’m sorry I won’t be there to see it. But, if I could ask one thing of you, it would just be for you to think of me while you go bird watching. Who knows, maybe I’m up in the clouds, watching the birds with you.  
Love-  
Richie.

Bill-  
What even can I say to you? I never deserved to have you in my life. You were the closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother. Or a real family. I don’t know how you ever put up with my stupid jokes, but I thank you for humoring me. It made me feel like you cared. Maybe you did, but I don’t know how you could. What with me being me and you being you. You are such a natural leader, and you really have a way of making people listen to you and each other. I could never live up to what you did and do. I promise that you are going to do great things. It’s impossible for you not to. You’re amazing, Bill. Don’t forget it.  
Love-  
Richie. 

Mike-  
How did you do it? How did you take care of the entire group like a fatherly figure? You were the parent to the whole group, and you did it so naturally. You were the sweetest person I had ever met. You could give anyone one look and they would be struck with whatever emotion you wanted them to feel. You were, strangely, more of a father than my real one. You tried your best to keep everyone out of trouble, and keep everyone safe. You are going to be such a great father someday.  
Love-  
Richie.

Ben-  
What the hell, man? Why can’t I write like you? If I could, maybe my suicide notes wouldn’t be so fucking awkward. You seriously have a talent. You were really poetic, at least from the time that I knew you. You had such a way with words. You were so damn nice, and I’m sorry I never told you that. You really were a great guy. I’m sorry I won’t be there to see your future through.  
Love-  
Richie.

Beverly-  
God damn, you really were something. You were like the superglue to the whole friend group. You held us all together when we needed it. You were so bold and brave. Just like I never could be. You were so strong, and I never knew how you acted like that. I admired your strength, in a way. You were just so outstanding. Please keep that in mind. I’m sorry I can’t see what you do with yourself in the future.  
Love-  
Richie. 

Eddie-  
Oh boy, oh boy. Where do I even start? I guess I just… I loved you. I loved you more than you knew. I was really in love with you, I guess I should say. I never had the guts to tell you. And for that, I’m sincerely sorry. I loved you so much. I loved the way you tried to protect us from whatever you thought was harmful. I loved the way you got annoyed when I called you Eds. I loved the way you spoke. I loved the way you laughed. I loved the way you smiled. I loved the way you were. I’m sorry I won’t see you again. Maybe in another life, we’ll meet. The same way. All over again.  
Yours Truly-  
Richie.

Everyone-  
I’m not sorry. I’m not sorry for ending my life. It was just making yours worse. I was just a burden. I made everything more difficult. I’d rather end myself, end my life, take all my dirty little secrets to my grave, to die a painful death, to live in eternal suffering in a hell I don’t believe in; I’d rather do all of that than ruin your lives any further. I have secrets that will never be revealed. It’s probably for the better. I don’t want you all to worry about me. I’m just a worthless piece of shit after all. None of this is your fault, it’s mine. I lived. I loved. I laid at rest. So I just want you all to go on with your lives. They’ll be better without me in them, anyway. I hope I didn’t make you all sad. I don’t understand why I would. I’m not really something to be sad about. I’m just a worthless, garbage human anyway. I guess I’ll just tell you why I did it. I’m probably dead anyway, so what does it matter? My garbage parents and their years of abuse. Years of self harm and self hatred building up. And finally, the cherry on top, Patrick Hockstetter and his decision to… mess me up, I suppose? I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough from Bowers or Hockstetter. I don’t know if I have the heart to tell you in this letter. But, bye I guess. I loved you all dearly. I hope you guys go on to do great things without me in your way. I also really hope you can read my shitty handwriting.  
Love-  
Richie.

Richie had put all the letters in a neat pile on his desk with Stan’s on top, then put some meaningless song on the stereo. Something sad, he knew, and whatever it was kept repeating over and over once the song seemingly finished.  
Richie decided that this was a good time to take his life. Nobody would miss him, anyway. He was just annoying and vulgar. He wasn’t even funny. He just said random shit to cover up the fact that his heart was breaking. And, hell, if he had to make everyone uncomfortable because of his dumb jokes to do so, he was fine with it.  
The world would be better without him anyway.  
Richie had grabbed a box cutter from his drawer.  
He felt like he should be feeling something, anything. But he wasn’t.  
He was painfully numb.  
Stan didn’t need him to get in the way of his orderly way of life.  
Bill didn’t need him to make fun of every little thing he did.  
Mike didn’t need Richie fucking up his farm arrangements.  
Ben didn’t need him to corrupt his innocence.  
Beverly didn’t need him to make her uncomfortable just by being present.  
And Eddie didn’t need him at all. For anything. Richie didn’t deserve such a wonderful human. So sweet, funny, cute, compassionate, everything anyone could ever want.  
Everything Richie wasn’t.  
Richie pressed the box cutter to his left wrist, disregarding familiar voices from outside his room.

“Richie?” Bev knocked on Richie’s bedroom door. Richie got startled and pressed the box cutter too hard into his arm, causing blood to drip everywhere (adding to the bloody pile beneath him that had accumulated from less deep cuts.) There was a ring like cut about as long as his pinky looped around the left side of his wrist. Richie panicked, trying to figure out how to cover his wound.  
“G-give me a minute!” He put pressure on the cut, which didn’t do much as it was insanely deep. Luckily he didn’t hit a vein. Richie just said fuck it and told everyone to come in.  
“Hey guys,” Richie put on a fake smile to hide the immense pain he was in. Blood was seeping through his sleeve, which he had hidden behind his back—quite awkwardly.  
“W-w-w-what’s behind your back?” Bill asked. Richie went pale. Richie searched for an answer.  
“Nothing,” he said. Nobody was convinced. Stan was going to speak, but Eddie spoke first.  
“Richie, are you bleeding?” Eddie asked in a somewhat serious tone, pointing to the blood pooling behind him on his sheets. Richie laughed nervously.  
“Am I? Why, spaghetti, how nice of you to notice,” he stammered. Eddie looked angry for a moment, but the anger quickly faded into worry as he realized that Richie didn’t deny being injured.  
Without thinking, Stan yanked Richie’s wrist forward, exposing the bleeding cuts to the rest of the losers. Richie squeaked in shock at the sudden contact.  
“Richie… what happened?” Ben asked in a gentle tone. Richie looked around his room.  
Bev looked like she was tearing up.  
Eddie looked hurt, or maybe angry.  
Bill looked shocked.  
Mike looked confused.  
Ben looked like he understood.  
Stan looked like he had been stabbed in the chest. 

“Guys… I-I’m fine. Really,” Richie’s lip started to quiver slightly as he forced a smile. Suddenly, Mike got up and grabbed something carefully from the sheets. The look of confusion on Mike’s face slowly turned into dread as he examined the object in his hands.  
“Richie, what were you gonna do with this?” Mike held up a bloody box cutter between his fingers.  
Bill seemed to pale.  
Bev wiped a tear from her eye.  
Stan seemed to release the tension in his face as he released Richie’s hand.  
Ben’s face softened.  
Eddie started to cry a little.  
Mike’s face stayed the same: concerned and somber.

Richie wiped tears from his eyes with the back of his hand.  
“Why do you guys care so much?” Richie laughed dryly. Bill opened his mouth to say something, but he was too shocked to speak right away.  
“W-w-what?” Bill furrowed his brows.  
“I mean, you guys would be better off without me, wouldn’t you? If I just disappeared it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter if… if I… I…” Richie choked on his words. He swallowed back a sob as he finished his sentence.  
“It wouldn’t matter if I killed myself.”  
The words rung in the group’s ears, drowning out the silence.


	4. What is it About Them?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An early mini chapter because I’m impatient and an insomniac.  
> Richie convinces the losers to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from “Xanny” by Billie Eilish.  
> I might post more frequently than weekly due to being in quarantine and having nothing to do. But I will AT LEAST post once per week. Feedback is appreciated. Thanks :D

“Richie…” Beverly sniffled. Richie didn’t respond. He just continued to stare down at his sheets. “We wouldn’t be the same without you. All of us— we love you so much.”   
“But that’s not true,” Richie broke the silence. “You guys… you all have something, or—or someone that makes you happy. Stanley, you have birdwatching, Bev and Ben, you have each other, Bill, you have your books and writing, Mike, you have the farm. And Eddie, you have whatever those books are that you always read! But me? I’m useless! I’m not talented at anything. I’m not good at art, singing, writing, or anything of use! I’m not even funny!   
“I don’t have anything. I mean, I want someone, I think we all do, but I can’t have them. You know why? Because I’m worthless! I’m just a worthless, good-for-nothing, stupid, talentless kid who can’t even manage to keep his own dignity for more than five seconds!” Richie ranted. He slumped over, exhausted.   
Everyone was shaken. Shocked. They all wanted to say something, but they didn’t know what to say. Finally, Richie lifted his head and smiled weakly, not making eye contact with anyone.   
“You guys should leave,” he croaked.  
“N-n-no way! Not with all that shit you just said,” Bill exclaimed. Stan abruptly stood up.  
“You really expect us to leave you after all of that? Richie, I don’t know what to even say to you to make you understand…” Stan started to choke up.   
“Richie, I don’t know what you expect us to do. Do you just want us to up and leave? Because we won’t. You matter to us. You matter so much,” Ben spoke up.

Richie felt like he was supposed to feel better. Like he was doing something wrong by not immediately being ‘cured’ by their kind words. He thought that he should be feeling something.   
But he wasn’t.   
He just felt empty.   
So all he could really do was fake it until they left.   
What other option did he have?  
He was determined to kill himself.  
No matter how selfish it may seem.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that.” Richie laughed dryly. “I didn’t mean to… scare you.” He was trying his best to deflect any worry that he had caused.  
He just wanted them to leave.   
“Well… that doesn’t mean we all aren’t worried about you still,” Mike said softly.   
“I think it might be best if I just got some rest,” Richie said.   
After a ton of convincing, Richie finally managed to convince everyone to leave. 

He faked some smiles and jokes. Of course, Mike took the box cutter with him.   
Nobody fully trusted Richie’s statements.  
After all, they did just find him bleeding in his room, convinced he was worthless.   
But, they left. Albeit, hesitantly.   
That was when Richie decided he was going to the quarry.   
Falling to his death couldn’t be that painful, right?


	5. Gonna Jump Now and Be Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie jumps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m super creative and bored today so guess who gets an important chapter realllyyyy early! This is really short, but the shit that happens is MAJOR.
> 
> Major TW for suicide attempt. Also quick PSA I don’t see Richie as selfish at all, this is just his mindset and how he thinks he is. (just so you know I have no clue if this is accurate whatsoever, like, in a health and injury aspect. Blame google if I’m wrong.)
> 
> Title is from “My R, English Version” by Rachie. Y’know where this is going :’D
> 
> Also I never expected this to get any attention so I’m sorry if this sucks. Next chapter coming soon!

At last, he reached the quarry. But he didn’t go to the usual cliff diving spot. He walked, somewhat peacefully, to a much higher point of the cliff. The location stood about 10 stories high. It stood above water, but he thought that, maybe, it was just high enough to kill him.   
Richie had packed the notes into his pocket before he left. He placed them beneath his shoes to keep them there in case the wind picked up. He also placed his glasses in his shoes to keep from damaging them during his fall. The moonlight lit the water up, casting a gentle reflection of light across its surroundings.

Richie felt oddly at peace.   
He looked up at the sky, thinking it might be his last chance to ever see the stars.   
The world seemed more in focus than it ever had been, despite him not wearing his glasses. Everything was so much clearer.  
He could make out the leaves on the trees and the way they were illuminated by the moonlight. He could see each wave of the water as it crashed and swished. He could see the craters in the full moon as it lit up the night. He could differentiate the various hues of green that tinted the grass behind him. He could hear the hushed coos of the birds tending to their nests, and the crickets chattering between the twigs. 

Richie hung his feet over the ledge. He looked down, no longer fearful of the fall.  
He gripped the jagged ground loosely, preparing himself for the fall.   
Soon it would all be over.  
He wished he could’ve said sorry to his friends.   
He wished he could’ve told them about Patrick.   
But maybe it was better this way; they didn’t need to fuss about him anymore.   
He didn’t have to bother them just to make himself feel better.   
He didn’t have to tell them he’d been raped.

“Hey!” A familiar female voice shouted.   
“Stop!” Another familiar voice, male this time, screamed. They seemed to be freaking out, which was most definitely out of the ordinary for someone with a voice that seemed so calm. Richie could almost feel the eyes burning into the back of his head.  
“Don’t jump!” Somebody else (again, familiar) puffed, seeming out of breath as footsteps crunched towards Richie. Richie stood up, then leaped off of the ledge. He was ready to meet the water’s wrath. He fell forward, the breeze stinging his eyes and face as he fell. He heard screams of someone, or more than someone, behind him. Richie closed his eyes, bracing for impact. 

He finally hit the water, feet first. Water surged into his mouth and nose, but Richie just floated idly in the lake. He was beginning to lose consciousness, and when he was, he felt splashes in the water nearby. He could feel his own blood pooling up around him as he gradually drifted back to the surface, face down. 

Richie heard something crying out to him. Or maybe it was someone. It sounded like it was speaking his name. His face was abruptly pulled back out of the water. He automatically took in a breath, or tried to. For when he did, his body remembered that he had water in his airways. Richie would have opened his eyes, but he barely even had enough energy to remain conscious. He was being held and dragged somewhere, and someone was whispering incomprehensible words in his watered-down ears. 

Eventually, Richie was hoisted onto the shore by an individual unknown to him. Then, when whoever it was realized he was not breathing, they gave him immediate CPR until he coughed up a stream of water. 

Once Richie finally regained enough energy to open his eyes, he took in the sight before him.

A panicked Eddie kneeling directly above him. --he must have given Richie CPR.--

An uneasy Mike stood next to an exasperated Bill. They both stood in drenched clothing. -- they must have helped pull Richie out of the lake.--

A sweaty Ben, a miserable Stan, and a woeful Beverly all clung to each other. --They must have been the ones yelling.--

Everyone’s face was tearstained and pinkish. They had all been crying.

Richie watched as Eddie leaned down towards him and just collapsed. Sobs wracked Eddie’s whole body as he clung to Richie for dear life. Mike wiped at his eyes and dialed 911 while everyone else sat down to cry themselves. Bill leaned against Stan for support as he whispered things only they could hear. Beverly and Ben exchanged a deep embrace as they wept. Richie just sat in silence, the sirens in the distance becoming louder and louder.


	6. Have You Tried Crossing Over Yet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie wakes up in the hospital.  
> The losers find out about his assault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this is short and garbage but I felt the need to get another chapter out there. Thx for all the support ily you all <3

Richie woke up with a feeding tube and an IV. He looked around his empty hospital room, observing the barren blue walls and sleek tile ground. He swallowed, wondering who was paying for his stay. Then his door opened. 

“Hello Richie,” a doctor wearing slight square spectacles greeted him. Richie smiled weakly. The door abruptly swung open, revealing the worried faces of Mr. and Mrs. Denbrough peeking inside the room.  
“Hi, Richie,” Sharon Denbrough lulled. “How are you doing?” Richie raised a weak hand and gave a shaky thumbs up. The Denbroughs laughed dully. “We just wanted to speak to Dr. Yung for a minute.” The doctor gave a knowing look to Mrs. Denbrough as she stepped outside of the thin walls.  
“How is he?” Zack Denbrough asked. Richie could hear through the paper thin walls.  
“Well, uh, I don’t know how to tell you both this, but,” Dr. Yung paused. “While we were examining him, we found some strong evidence that Richard had been sexually assaulted.” 

Richie’s blood drained from his face as his heart monitor beeped more rapidly.

“There are severe signs of forceful insertion, such as bleeding and tears in the mouth and anus. We would not have discovered this if he hadn’t started to bleed on the exam table. Now, this would be understandable if he was bleeding from a place that was cut open by water force from when he fell, but it seemed as if…” 

Richie had stopped listening. 

He was already able to feel Patrick’s tongue slithering down his mouth. He could feel hands in and out of him. He could feel an unwanted presence tearing at his skin in his mouth. He felt the white hot pain all over again. 

… 

Richie blacked out after a few minutes. When he came to, he was alone again. The white glow of his bedside lamp was flickering light across the room. His door opened, once again, and this time, it was Bill and Stan who entered the room.  
“H-h-hello,” Bill waved. He had lost his usual spark; his eyes seemed dim and burnt out. Stan flashed a weak smile before sitting down on the grey couch next to Richie’s bed. “Is it alright i-i-if Eddie and Bev come in?” Richie nodded. Stan signaled with his hand at the door, then Bev and Eddie cautiously stepped into the room. 

Bev took in the sight before her.  
Richie lying weakly on the white hospital sheets, too overheated to lay beneath them. An empty feeding tube was inserted into his nostrils, and an IV was feeding fluid into his left arm.  
“Uh, hey,” she said. She had heard what the Denbroughs were speaking about, and she knew she had to address it.  
Sooner rather than later, she guessed. Bev flashed Stan a look that said to meet her by the water fountain. That was their designated “private speaking” area. Stan apologized to the group as he and Bev left the room. 

“What is it?” Stan asked in a whisper, as they were still close to the chatting parents and doctor.  
“I overheard some things while I was waiting for you to let me and Eddie in,” she began. “And since Eddie was pacing over by the vending machine, I don’t think he heard.”  
“What did they say?”  
“The doctors said that Richie had signs of untreated rape trauma.”

Stan went silent. 

He had known that something was off about the way Richie had been behaving leading up to the suicide attempt, but he never would have expected this.

“...Please tell me you’re not serious,” Stan finally choked out.  
“I’m sorry,” Bev sniffled. 

Stan and Bev decided to tell the others to come outside with them and to call Ben and Mike down from the lobby. And when they arrived, Bev began to explain what she heard.

“Oh my God,” Ben finally broke the silence.  
“You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking,” Eddie hysterically chattered. Bev shook her head. Bill suddenly had a pale face and a look of sick realization.  
“Guys,” he said.  
“Yeah?” Stan blankly chimed in.  
“Th-th-th-the Bowers g-gang has left us a-a-alone this year, right?” Bill asked. Everyone nodded.  
“H-h-have you seen the way P-P-Patrick looks at Richie, and the w-w-way he’s always around him?” Everyone stayed still.  
“Like how he stands over him at his locker and b-b-blocks him from leaving? Or how he’ll find ways to make subtle c-contact with him, like touching his shoulder or bumping into him on p-purpose?” Everyone knew what Bill was getting at.  
“I-I think we n-need to t-t-talk to him,” Bill bit his lip as he spoke to keep from crying too much. 

Everyone stepped into the hospital room where Richie was asleep. They all sat relatively close to Richie, with Bev and Eddie laying down on the bed next to him. Eddie watched Richie’s movements closely, observing each gentle breath and sigh outwards. Each raise of his small chest when he inhaled and how it collapsed when he exhaled. Each slight twitch of his face when he would most likely get an itch. 

Eddie knew he was in love.  
Eddie wouldn’t admit it yet.


	7. Monster, How Should I Feel?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie has a medical emergency, and kicks Eddie in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is from “Monster” by Meg & Dia
> 
> Ok quick PSA, I do NOT think Richie deserves any of the shit he went through, it is once again his toxic mindset. 
> 
> TW for seizures. 
> 
> Also, like, pseudo-seizures are in fact a thing, I looked this entire thing up so don’t worry I fact checked it. I’m sorry if the whole psychogenic seizure scene isn’t 100% accurate, I have never had a seizure so I am not very well informed on that shit. But, like, I googled it. So it’s fine. And I’m sorry that the chapter ending is so shitty I just didn’t know how to end it. Thanks guys <3

Richie eventually woke up to Eddie clinging to his side and Bev sleeping at the end of his bed. Everything hurt, his lungs, his legs, his back. He had a stupid chorus from one of his old favorite songs stuck in his head, despite him only knowing the tune and not the lyrics.  
It was nothing but a long lost memory fading into his thoughts.  
He could feel something draining into his arm, probably IV fluid. He looked up to the ceiling, the bland white paneling crisscrossing through his line of sight.  
Richie wondered how he managed to screw up his life this badly. He was so pathetic, really. All he was was a kid who didn’t know how to properly kill himself. He didn’t mean to drag everyone into his mess. He just wanted to rid everyone of him. They didn’t deserve to be dragged down by his excessive self loathing.  
A single tear rolled down Richie’s cheek.  
He thought that maybe he deserved to be raped by Patrick. At least he had some use for someone, then.  
Maybe he deserved to be nearly suffocated by Patrick and his witch-like fingers, grabbing at his throat while he ravaged him like an animal.  
Maybe he deserved to taste the bitter and salty coating of Patrick’s semen in his mouth for months.  
Maybe he deserved to be unable to walk for days after the attacks.  
Maybe he deserved to be a worthless sex slave at Patrick’s will.  
Maybe he deserved to. 

Richie could feel something coming on; his panic and stress was at an all time high. He lost control of his legs and arms as they began to jerk wildly. His eyes were fixed on a certain ceiling tile, and he physically could not move his gaze. His mouth was forced closed by his muscles. He could feel the frothy and foamy saliva building up in his mouth. He didn’t know what the hell was happening, but he seemed to be losing himself rapidly. Richie had completely lost control of his movements as his consciousness faded in and out. 

… 

Eddie had woken up when Richie jerked his leg sideways, smacking him in the head.  
“Richie! What the hell are you—” Eddie was thrown off by the demeanor of the boy before him.  
Richie’s eyes were fixed on one of the ceiling tiles, unmoving. His arms and legs were jerking around without warning. But the most worrisome part of it all was his mouth.  
It was closed tightly for a few seconds, before opening shakily, mechanically, and letting white froth drip out of his mouth and roll down his neck.

“Holy shit,” Eddie stood up, shaking Bev awake.  
“What? What do you want?” Bev asked. Eddie gestured towards Richie.  
“I-I think he’s having a seizure,” he scrambled towards the emergency call button.  
“Oh my god, what do I do?” Bev stood up off of the bed.  
“Just— go tell the others what’s going on. I think they’re still in the lobby.” Bev left just as a nurse entered the room.  
“Uh, hi, I think Richie is having a seizure,” Eddie said matter of factly. The nurse took one look at Richie and pressed a button on her communicator.  
“Hello, I need backup personnel in room 402.” 

About ten seconds later, two men in scrubs entered the room. They both helped Richie onto his side, presumably to help open airways, then moved all sharp objects away from him as they observed him closely. Eddie turned to the nurse beside him.  
“I don’t think he has epilepsy, so why is he having a seizure?” The nurse wisely smiled at him.  
“Sometimes, if stress and emotional pain is high enough, a psychogenic non-epileptic seizure can occur. This occurs most often in people with mental illnesses or in physical and/or sexual abuse victims. Although, it can happen to anyone if their stress is severe enough.”  
Eddie knew it.  
Eddie knew Bill had to be right.  
What ELSE could cause a fucking seizure?  
Eddie watched as Richie’s violent movements slowly fizzled out into twitches. One of the doctors leaned down with what looked to be a napkin and wiped off Richie’s neck and mouth area. Richie was then placed on a gurney and rolled off into the halls.

Eddie sat down on the hospital bed and tried to process everything.


	8. Such Wicked Thoughts Behind a Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie confesses his assault to Stan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from “Painted Faces” by Trickywi.
> 
> TW for graphic depictions of rape. (Not rape scenes, but recollection of it.)
> 
> Oh my godddddddd. This is a sad chapter. But on a not-so-sad note, your guys’ comments literally light up this entire fic! And they make my day, so thank you so much for kudos and comments. It means a lot. Love ya guys <3

Eventually, Richie was walked back into the hospital room. He was hooked up to an IV fluid machine, so that when he walked, the wheels would squeak behind him. He sat down on his bed, thankful that there was nobody else in his room.  
But of course, someone had to go and ruin that.

There was a knock on his door, followed by a concerned Stan entering the room. He sat down on the end of Richie’s bed. He had a softer expression than Richie had ever seen him with. His eyes looked saddened, nonetheless wise and knowing. His mouth was turned slightly downward at the corners, forcing a small frown to be plastered across his face. Richie smiled weakly at him.  
“Hey,” Stan spoke softly.  
“Hi,” Richie croaked hoarsely. Stan looked him over, and his eyes flickered with a certain something that Richie couldn’t place.  
“I need to talk to you about something.” Stan spoke sternly, but not aggressively.  
“Okay,” Richie said.  
“Bev overheard the doctor say something about you. She heard them say that you were… uhm… sexually assaulted. I just want to know if that’s true.” Stan spoke firmly for the most part, but every so often, his voice would break a little bit.  
Richie’s breath hitched.  
“Well, uh, I… guess? I mean I don’t know if it really counts as ‘assault’ if it was dude-on-dude, but I guess it’s the way you look at it—” Richie was rambling. He was rambling to try to distract Stan. He hoped that his cheerful expression would do it for him.  
Of course it didn’t work.  
“Richie,” Stan cut him off. “Yes or no.”  
“It was uh… it was the day that Bowers and his gang grabbed me after I ran out of the clubhouse. They took me to the woods and, uhm, they gagged me and tied my hands. And, well, Vic tried to attack Patrick when he started unbuckling his belt. He and Belch got knocked out almost immediately. And Patrick took the gag off of me, but only so he—” Richie paused.  
“But only so he could shove his dick down my throat. He kept putting his fingers in my mouth to try and open it wider, but all he really did was cut open my cheek. And when he came, he came in my mouth. And he made me swallow. And it was just— it was almost like swallowing phlegm. But, uh, he did the whole blowjob thing again, but he came on my face the second time. And Henry just stood and watched.  
“And then he put the gag back in my mouth and unbuckled my pants. Then he— he just started putting his dick in me. Like, really. It hurt a lot. I don’t know how long that went on for, but I just remember feeling like that was how I was gonna die. But, uhm, he eventually left, and he fixed my pants, thank god. But that was just the first time. He did that whole blowjob thing when I was walking home from school. I’m just happy he didn’t fucking do the whole second part again. But, I think Bev and Eddie found me afterwards and they took me to Bev’s aunt’s house. But I somehow convinced them that nothing happened. So, uh, yeah. There you go,” Richie wiped at the warm tears streaming from his face.

Stan bit his lip as he cried too. He eventually just decided to ask Richie if he could hug him, to which the other boy nodded tearfully. The two exchanged a lingering embrace before Richie settled back onto the bed.  
“Is it alright if I tell the others?” Stan asked gently. Richie nodded.


	9. I’ll Cut My Hair~ To Make You Stare~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie has a breakdown, along with pretty much everyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from “Home” by Cavetown.
> 
> I’m really sorry this is so short and the chapter end is really bad I just really wanted to get something posted. Thanks guys.
> 
> Also subtle Stenbrough and not subtle Benverly. And like ohmygodilovestanandrichie’sfriendshipppppppp

Stan left Richie in his room so he could inform the others of his situation. He didn’t even bother to clean himself up before gathering with the losers, as he knew he would just end up crying again.   
“Hey guys. Walk with me outside,” Stan sniffled. Everyone wordlessly obliged and followed Stan outside into the chilly mid-March air.   
“Uh, so, what did he say?” Ben broke the silence. Stan said nothing immediately, blinking up at the sky as to keep his composure.   
“He said it was true. He was… he was… Bill, you were right,” Stan finally cracked. His eyes were bloodshot, piercing into Bill with an unintended sharpness. Stan’s voice was quivering and quaking as he spoke.   
Bill looked at Stan with a confused expression. But his face quickly turned into a horrified expression of realization.   
“I-I’m s-s-sorry, I… o-o-oh my g-g-g-god,” Bill curled into himself a little bit. Stan stepped closer to Bill.  
“You were right! Why did you h-have to be right?” Stan collapsed into Bill, sobs wracking his body. Bill hugged him as tight as he could. Bev had started crying too, to which Ben comforted her immediately. Eddie didn’t know how to process this. He knew that bill had been right. All along he knew, but he never wanted to accept it. Eddie and Mike exchanged a hug, one filled with confusion and tears. 

Bev pulled away from Ben’s hug.  
“What’s wrong?” Ben asked kindly.  
“Isn’t someone supposed to be watching him?” Bev asked, somewhat panicked.   
“Oh, oh yeah. Bev, you should probably go check on him, I don’t think Stan or Eddie is in the right state of mind to check on him right now,” Ben said. Bev nodded, kissed Ben on the head, and rushed into the hospital. 

(Richie POV.)

Richie had been sitting on his bed, when a hair fell in his face. When he went to move it back, he suddenly recalled the vivid feeling of Patrick yanking his hair back, pulling and weaving his fingers through each strand as he pulled his face towards him. Patrick kept smelling his hair in between unwanted make-out sessions. Richie could almost feel the breath on his face. 

(Bev POV.)

Some doctor, an incompetent one at that, had left a pair of scissors on the nightstand. Just as Bev opened the door to Richie’s room, Richie had already made a beeline for the mirror, scissors in hand. His eyes had begun to fill with fierce tears as he snipped off the ends of his hair with only a second of hesitation. He mouthed angry words, most incomprehensible to Bev. The only words she could hear formed a sentence all to familiar to Bev:

“You made me do this.” 

Bev was so in shock, she didn’t know what to do. She finally snapped out of her frozen state when Richie dropped the scissors with shaking hands, then promptly fell to the floor next to his IV tank.   
“Richie, Richie, Rich, it’s okay, I’m here,” Bev cooed as she held Richie. His shoulders shook as he sobbed. He fell into Bev’s comforting embrace, letting his tears soak into Bev’s cotton shirt fabric.


	10. Cries of Children That Seem So Near

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wentworth Tozier pays Richie a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from “Labyrinth” by Cg5.
> 
> This is really short, but I had a little inspiration so whatever.
> 
> Also I know Wentworth is nice in the book but not here my dudes.

(Takes place when Richie’s parents finally show up to the hospital.)

Richie had woken up to his door slamming open and shut. He was met with the angry face of his father, red with rage as he sat up against the wall.   
“So, I get home from work, and what do I get? A call from the hospital saying that you had tried to fucking off yourself, like a coward!” A ripple of searing pain followed by the sharp sound of a CRACK met Richie’s cheek. Richie flinched a little, but he was almost expecting it to happen sooner. His father stepped closer, breathing on Richie’s face.   
“And what’s this I hear about you being a fag? ‘Rape trauma, forced insertion’? I bet you wanted it, didn’t ya? Fucking faggot!” Wentworth spat pretty much all over Richie’s face. With each fiery word, Richie’s eyes glazed over a little more.   
“Dad, I’m sorry,” Richie muttered. He was quickly cut off by a swift right hook to his jaw, then a hand clamped around his neck, raising him up higher against the wall and restricting his airflow.   
“No son of mine is a faggot,” Wentworth snarled. He then prepared to slap his son again, but he was interrupted with the shatter of a glass ornament to his head. Richie fell limply, now near unconscious, to the bed, but he held his eyes open long enough to make sure the ornament he had thrown at his father’s head had really knocked him out. 

“Richie! Richie! Oh my god he’s not waking up,” Eddie rambled.   
“I-I-I’m sure h-he’ll wake up s-s-s-soon,” Bill said, although sounding rather unconvinced.  
“Should I get a doctor?” Stan asked. Bill nodded.   
“N-No,” Richie slurred. “Don’t do that.”   
“Ohmygodrichieyoureawakethankgodithoughtyouweredeadholyshit—” Eddie spoke. Nobody had seen what happened with Richie and his dad, but they sure as hell all heard it (aside from Bev, Ben, and Mike, who were in the lobby.) But Stan was immediately put off by the fact that Richie didn’t want a doctor, and Bill knew something was up by the noise. And by his father’s body lying on the bed, unconscious.  
“I’m all good, Eds,” Richie spoke.   
“Hey, don’t call me that, dipshit,” Eddie smiled. 

(After Richie has been released.)

Richie was released, and was highly encouraged to attend therapy, although he knew he never would. The Denbroughs drove him home, although he hesitated to go inside.   
He knew his father would be pissed about getting glass smashed on his heads among other things. But he knew he needed to go inside his dreadful house. Thankfully, his father had gone somewhere, and, like always, his mother was passed out. Richie made his way to his room, where he flopped over and did all he could think of:  
Sleep.


	11. I Contend That Your Drinking Eye Has Never Opened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maggie decides to pay for her alcohol in alternate ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Title from “Baby Hotline” by Jack Stauber.)
> 
> I went overboard with this chapter
> 
> Major TW for rape

Richie finally woke up, feeling like shit. His neck hurt, his cheek hurt, everything hurt. Richie wished he could have just died when he jumped off the fucking cliff. That way, he wouldn’t have to face his friends again. He wouldn’t have to look at Patrick again. He wouldn’t have to do anything again. 

Richie knew how fucking selfish he was for thinking these things. He knew. He knew that he shouldn’t WANT to die. He shouldn’t WANT to stay away from his friends. He shouldn’t WANT to kiss Eddie Kaspbrak. 

He shouldn’t want to at all.

Richie laid on his bed, wallowing in his own misery for hours. Finally, his phone rang.  
“Hello?” Richie picked up, answering in a groggy tone.  
“Richie, I know this is a lot to ask, but would you be willing to meet up with me and the rest of the losers tomorrow? I mean, like, if you want,” Eddie stammered in an unusually flustered manner.  
“Yeah. That’s fine. See you then, Eds,” Richie mumbled. Eddie didn’t correct him on the nickname.  
“See you then,” Eddie said before hanging up. 

THE NEXT DAY

Richie attempted to sleep through most of Friday, fighting the intense hunger pains that tore at his stomach as he lied down. Unfortunately, that Friday happened to be the day his mother was awake, and she had invited her main source of alcohol over, otherwise known as the local bartender. Problem was, she was broke.  
“I don’t have any money, but my son is upstairs, so if you give me a fix I’ll let you do what you want with him,” Richie could hear his mother slur. Richie shot up from the bed, his fight or flight response immediately kicking in. He ran for the window, cursing silently when he realized it was locked, the handle pulled off its hinges. 

Escape route one: ruined. 

Richie was about to make a beeline for the bathroom in hopes of reaching the window there, but he ran straight into the bartender he supposed his mother was talking to. The man looked Richie over with an unidentifiable gleam in his eyes. His eyes seemed to linger in certain places for too long to be considered normal.  
He grabbed Richie by his hair with one hand, his other muffling the boy’s screams. He threw the smaller male face down onto the mattress. Richie was bent halfway over the bed, and he heard the all too familiar sound of a belt unbuckling. Soon, the sound of his own pants being yanked down. Richie didn’t even bother fighting back as the bartender forced his way inside him. He simply gripped the sheets with as much force as he could. He could feel the blood dripping down his thighs as he buried his face further into the sheets.

_____________________________________________________________________  
Richie never wanted to go back to when he was raped by Patrick, but it at least seemed better to him than being assaulted by a total stranger. For one main reason: Patrick was a kid, meaning that his penis wasn’t as big, meaning less blood and less pain. But this grown adult could cause serious damage to him.  
Then Richie came to a sickening realization:

He wouldn’t ever be an innocent kid again. He may be a minor, but he wouldn’t ever feel like a child again. His innocence had been forcefully ripped from his grasp. And he would never get it back.

… 

Once the bartender finished, he left Richie, who was collapsed in a pile of blood on the floor. The man went downstairs, hastily pulling a bottle of whiskey and shoving it in Maggie’s hands. Richie realized he still had to meet with the losers today. He decided he would just suck it up and throw on a pair of shorts, or anything that wouldn’t cling to his skin. He didn’t even bother cleaning up the blood on his legs and floor before leaving.


	12. And We’ll Pretend, We’ll Just Pretend, Pretend That Day Would Never End.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie has a mental breakdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Title from “Enjoy The Show” by natewantstobattle.
> 
> Hey sorry it’s short. Oh well I’m very bored so probably more posted soon! 
> 
> (P.S. I don’t know how to end chapters so I’m sorry)

Richie threw on a pair of blue basketball shorts, which he would end up regretting (since they didn’t cover the dripping river of blood flowing down his legs) and he kept his shirt on. He knew it would hurt too much to use his bike, so he just decided to walk to the clubhouse. 

Richie arrived at the clubhouse, albeit late, and at this point his legs were stained crimson. He didn’t know how to cover it, which made him nervous. He figured that if he sat down, it might not be as noticeable. 

“What’s up,” Richie climbed down the ladder facing the losers (hiding his legs as best he could.) Eddie was immediately suspicious, as Richie never climbed the ladder like that.  
“Hey,” Stan said. Richie took in the group before him:  
Bev was silent, a tense look on her face. Richie figured it was because of their last interaction. He probably should apologize for staining her shirt with his tears. Stan looked pretty relaxed, a slight smile spread across his face. Eddie had the same look as Bev did, only his eyebrows were creasing in a way that Bev’s weren’t. Bill looked happy, lively, like normal. Ben looked calm, which was pretty normal for Ben. Mike looked like he knew something Richie didn’t.   
“So, uh, is this like an intervention or something?” Richie tried his best to sound lively and happy. But in reality, he was tired. He was in pain, and he was so drained. He felt the need to cover up his emotions, act as normal as he could, because he didn’t want to have to admit that he was raped. Again. By someone he didn’t even know.   
“N-n-n-no! What m-makes you—” Bill began ranting, but he was cut off fairly quickly by a quiet voice.   
“Richie, why are you bleeding?” Mike spoke, his voice calm, but hurt and worried at the same time. Richie had dreaded this question. He didn’t know how to fucking answer it. Richie tried to speak, but of course, his voice got caught in his throat. He could feel the eyes wander down to his thighs, and by god he hated it. Before attempting to speak, he took in the room once more.   
Mike had an old-soul kind of look on his face, wise far beyond his years. His eyes were solemn and knowing, boring into Richie’s own.  
Ben had the look of a child who was being told how to calculate pi. He looked perplexed. He had his sandy blonde eyebrows knitted together, indicating confusion.   
Bev looked like a deer in headlights, her eyes comically wide and her brows tensed.  
Bill looked angry, his jaw clenched like it did right before he stuttered angrily about the issue he was having.  
Stan looked like he was about to beat someone up. He had a burning fire alight in his eyes, one that Richie couldn’t understand.   
And Eddie looked like a prey animal trying to hide from a predator. His eyes were completely open, as wide as possible, and his mouth was open slightly. 

Bill was about to open his mouth, but he was cut off by a sharp statement, authoritative, cold.   
“It wasn’t Hockstetter,” Richie croaked, his eyes fixed on the splintered floorboards.   
“Then who?! Who Richie?!” Bill screamed, startling the whole group. His voice was filled with pent up anger never before spoken of. Tears pricked at the stutterer’s eyes as he spoke.   
“I don’t know,” Richie cried.   
“I— you— what?” Bill’s tone turned from anger to perplexity in a matter of seconds. Richie just shrugged in response. Richie tried to think of the most vague way to describe the events that took place (both for his and the losers’ sake.)  
“I— there was a guy, and he was in the house, and he just kinda, I don’t know, went into my room? But it happened and he just… left. I guess that maybe I wasn’t quick enough, and that’s why it happened? I don’t know. But not to worry, dear chaps! I’ll be fine and dandy after a long awaited sleep! Er, rest. Whatever,” Richie tried to mask his hysteria with his stupid British butler voice. He thought that maybe, if he talked over his intrusive thoughts, he could pretend. He could pretend that he was okay. He could make himself believe that he was okay. 

The whole group was completely shocked. Richie was raped, possibly sodomized, and he was simply ignoring the fact that it happened and carrying on with his day. On top of that, he was clearly breaking down, little by little, and he was masking it (poorly) with a quip and a joke.   
Richie suddenly collapsed to the ground, hands grasping at his curls. He collapsed, and despite the concerned people surrounding him, he allowed himself to scream.   
He screamed a crackly, shrill cry that only someone who has suffered so much pain and grief, so much agony, so much guilt and shame could muster. Tears flowed out of Richie’s eyes at a rapid rate. 

The entire group was shocked. They didn’t know what to do when Richie fell to the ground in hysterics. They didn’t know what to do when he started to cry. They didn’t know what to do when he let out the most agonizing shriek any one of them had ever heard. All they could do was freeze in place and stare in shock at their traumatized friend before them.

Battered.  
Bruised.  
Bleeding.   
Broken.


	13. Blackout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie wakes up alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m posting two chapters at once because they didn’t mesh well as one chapter. Pls read both thanks love you guysssss

Richie blacked out eventually. He came to alone, which surprised him a little bit. He was still at the clubhouse.   
He walked sluggishly up the ladder and pushed the hatch up, revealing a dark sky. Richie looked left to right, but his friends were nowhere in sight. He wasn’t sure where they could be, but it didn’t matter. Richie took it as his cue to keep his trashmouth shut and just go home. 

Richie was met with a harsh slap across the face the moment he entered his house.   
“You piece of shit! You took my fucking beer again, didn’t you?” Wentworth screamed.  
Of course Richie didn’t take his beer. He shook his head no, to which Wentworth kicked him backwards into the wall.  
“Liar! Filthy faggot, you’d be better off dead,” Wentworth snarled. Richie didn’t even blame his father for saying that. He really would be better off dead.

Richie ran up to his room, where he paced for at least an hour. He finally came to the decision that he was going to kill himself, correctly, once and for all. He needed to put those letters to use at some point, anyway.


	14. ロストワンの号哭 (Lost One’s Weeping),

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie attempts suicide... again. I’m sorry guys lol do u guys want a sad ending or happy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey title and most of the chapter is inspired heavily by Lost One’s Weeping. Tried out a different style too! Do u guys want a happy or sad ending? Also, lines with brackets are lyrics

Richie sat still for what felt like days before he moved.

[Counting days like numbers, they all pass their prime.]

He tried to recount the last time he had thought of this plan, before remembering he had chickened out the first time. 

[And again, hypnotically, swimming through time.]

He let out a dry, humorless chuckle.

[Behind the power and guards I put up;]

Richie closed his eyes as if to shield himself from his own cruel reality.

[I hide;]

He opened them, accepting his own fate

[Knowing they had long died.]

…   
[Can you even solve the problem with your abacus yet?]

Richie has just finished delivering his letters at each of the losers, or rather, he just stacked them all up and placed them in a pile on Bill’s doorstep. He just hoped that the writing was legible. And that his writing would answer their questions. 

[Can you even stop the rope from h a n g i n g him by his neck?]

Eddie had been over at Bill’s house (along with the rest of the losers) when he saw Richie in a raincoat, placing something on Bill’s doorstep. Eddie alerted the rest of the losers, who were perplexed as to where Richie was. Stan and Bill had a horrible feeling in their stomachs. They all agreed to go to Richie’s house, based on Stan’s intuition. They alerted Mr. and Mrs. Denbrough, who has been worried sick ever since they had been told of the incident in the clubhouse (the losers left to go tell them what happened, but couldn’t take Richie because of limited space. And when they came back, he was gone.) 

[Did we really choose it right saying we’re okay this way?] 

Richie was standing on a stool in his bedroom, a noose tight around his neck. He felt empty. He knew this was a pathetic way to die, but he just didn’t care. He wanted this trauma to be over with. And he couldn’t see another way out.

[Hey just tell me how, hey just tell me how!{

Richie woefully recounts the years of learning put to waste.

[Can you even say the formula of area now?]

Richie wondered where it all went wrong, when his hopes turned into faded memories he could only vaguely recall.

[Can you even scream the dreams you swore would never go out?]

Maybe it was his fault. Probably. It wasn’t his place to accuse other people of ruining his own life. Hell, he didn’t even blame Patrick Hockstetter as much as he blamed himself, nor the random bartender who was basically just using him as a human cumsock. He didn’t blame his parents, either. It wasn’t their fault that they were bound to break.

[Who was the one who let my hopes just curl up and die?] 

Richie knew it was his own fault.

[Hey who could it be?]

It had to be his.

[No, it’s gotta be…] 

Maybe one day Richie would finally grow the hell up and stop being so dramatic. He had a better life than most people, so why the fuck was he in this position right now?

[Just open up your eyes, why don’t you grow up and see?]

Richie didn’t even know what it meant to be grown up, but he knew what it was like to stop being a kid.

[But what the hell is ‘growing up’? And tell me when will I be!]

Richie didn’t think anyone would be willing to listen, which is fair. Who wants to listen to Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier for more than 0.2 seconds? 

[Can a single person out there just explain it to me?]

There was a microscopic part of Richie that urged him not to step off the stool, to put the rope away and ask someone for help. 

[Hey just tell me how!]

But Richie couldn’t hear that part of him. Not over the bustling subway station of thoughts rumbling and rustling in his brain. 

[It’s not like I care now!]

“I’m sorry!” Richie yelled, before letting his feet slide off the stool.


	15. I’m Only Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Title from “[Only] Human” by Christina Perri.)
> 
> LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT THIS TO BE TURNED INTO A SERIES.

…everything was dark…  
…Richie couldn’t open his eyes…  
…was he dead?…  
…Richie didn’t know…  
…he could feel things, even though he couldn’t see…  
…he could feel hands pulling and pushing at him…  
…he wasn’t breathing, Richie knew that…  
…but his throat still felt restricted…  
…it still tried to take air in, albeit futilely…  
… Richie felt peaceful…  
…his thoughts were limited to memories of long lost happiness, and visions of blissful glee…  
…he couldn’t think with proper, coherent thoughts…  
…only incomplete phrases and fragments of sentences…  
…a single phrase popped in and out of his drifting thoughts…  
…it replayed over and over like an infinite loop of sorrowful lament…  
…it echoed in his mind like voices in a canyon…  
“w h y— l e a v e — t h e m?”  
…it was the only thought that kept reappearing in his brain…  
…it was like the fragment was proud of itself…  
…Richie finally managed to piece together an entire sentence with those words…  
“w h y w o u l d y o u l e a v e t h e m?”  
…Richie felt something snore next to him…  
…Richie wondered what it was…  
…Richie heard voices, presumably from his friends and doctors surrounding him…  
…he heard a voice whispering about a suicide note, and another whispering about something Richie couldn’t understand…  
… Richie managed to open his eyes, and he took in the sight before him…  
—Two young, calm doctors.—  
—Five exhausted losers.—  
—One sleeping Eddie, curled up next to Richie on his hospital bed.  
…something flipped in Richie’s brain like a switch…  
…something that made him want to get off the bed and hug his friends…  
…something that made him want to apologize to the doctors…  
…something that made him want to kick Patrick and that random bartender in the nuts…  
…something that made him feel strangely happy, despite his desperate situation…  
…something that made him want to burn his suicide notes…  
… something that made Richie question whether he really was dead and he just didn’t know it…  
…something that made him realize he was gonna need help after he left the hospital he had inevitably gone to…  
…something that made him realize that was okay…  
…something that made him realize that his friends were here for him…  
… something that made him acknowledge that there were going to be bumps along the road to recovery, and that’s okay…  
…life isn’t sunshine and rainbows…  
…and that’s okay…  
… as long as Richie had the losers, he knew they’d be there to save him…  
…even if he didn’t think he deserved it…  
…he felt like a character in a Disney movie coming to such a childish epiphany…  
…but Richie didn’t care…  
…all he wanted was to get out of the hospital, and its uncomfortable beds…  
…he wanted to leave with the losers…  
…because losers stick together…  
…no matter what.


	16. You Can Count On Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bonus chapter. LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT THIS TO BE A PART OF A SERIES.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if you want this to be continued in a series. Please comment on how well I wrote the story I love feedback and ahhhh in sorry the ending is so bad lol.
> 
> (Title from “Count on Me” by Bruno Mars.)

Eddie had expected this. He expected Richie to have another breakdown. He grabbed the letters on his way out when he left. He read them at the hospital. He was especially surprised about the whole ‘Richie-liking-Eddie-back’ thing. But he wasn’t complaining. He just wanted his friend to be okay. 

Stan saw everything coming too. He knew that it was bound to happen. He cried a lot on the trip to the E.R. He cried a lot at the hospital, too. His parents tried to act as though they weren’t concerned, but of course they were scared. 

Bev was the one who cut Richie down, since the paramedics were taking too long, and she knew that by the time they got there, Richie would have suffocated. Bev (with Mike’s assistance) cut the rope and let Richie fall into Bill’s open arms.

Bill caught Richie when he fell from his rope’s suspension. He held Richie as they all cried, silently praying that Richie would start breathing again. He did, eventually, but not before Eddie told him to hold Richie upright to let air in easier. God, what would he do without Eddie? 

Ben was the one who called 911 and kept them updated on the situation. He was crying, partly out of panic and stress, but mostly out of fear. Fear for Richie and his life. Fear for what was gonna happen after he was taken away on a gurney. Fear for the entire group. Fear for Richie, all in all. 

Mike was the one who held Bev steady while she cut the rope. He held her shaking legs so she could balance on the stool. He was trying his best to guide her through a simple task. He tried as best he could. 

The losers knew that they would need to go to the police about Richie’s rapes, even though they didn’t know what they were supposed to say. They knew something was up with his parents, too, but they didn’t have enough evidence to say anything yet. But they would try. By god, they would try. They would try to help Richie in any way they could. They would try to guide him through the dark to the light that shines somewhere. They would try. They would try as hard as they could.

Because that’s what losers do.


	17. NOT A CHAPTER: I HAVE A SECOND STORY IN THE SERIES PLS CHECK IT OUT THANKS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have a second story out (a sequel to this one)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s called ‘Better Off Dead’

OK SO ITS THE SECOND IN THE SERIES AND WHEN/IF YOU READ IT PICTURE CURRENT FINN WOLFHARD BC ALL THE CHARACTERS ARE LIKE, 15


End file.
